Yvonne
by mandassina
Summary: In the aftermath of Alex Hopkins killing his entire team, Jack finds emotional and moral support from an unlikely source.


**Disclaimer:**_ Torchwood_, its characters and settings are property of Russell T. Davies and BBC Wales. This story was written for entertainment only and not for profit.

_**Yvonne**_

Jack looked at the sea of paperwork scattered across his desk and felt his stomach begin to churn again. How had Alex managed it all? It seemed that nothing happened or was done in Torchwood without someone filling out a form that had to be read, approved, and signed, in triplicate, by the station's director. Routine things, like toilet paper and paperclip requisitions, daily reports, and research data could be handled in Cardiff; but bigger expenses, like SUV repairs, the year's food budget for the various aliens they kept in the vaults, plans for mass Retconnings, and materials and equipment to tear out the blood-stained concrete walkways and replace them with metal gratings had to be approved by London.

"Mrow?"

"Shh," he hissed at the sleek ball of black fluff.

Not for the first time, Jack felt his eyes well up. He really wanted to cry, again, but he had done so much of that over the past several days that he just couldn't bear any more. Since the early sixties, his arrangement as a permanent free-lancer for Torchwood had included a no-paperwork clause. Now that he was suddenly the only one left, he was completely unprepared for the amount of administrative crap he would have to do just to keep the physical plant running. He could have had help, of course, but when he'd contacted London about the deaths of all the others, he had told them in no uncertain terms that they were _not_ to send him any more brilliant, beautiful young people to get killed. He'd seen quite enough death for several lifetimes, thank you very much. Of course, that particular decision had left him utterly and totally alone.

He ruthlessly strangled a sob, blinked hard to clear the tears from his eyes, took a deep, steadying breath, and focused again on the requisition form he was trying to fill out.

"Mrow!"

"Yes, I know you're there," he fondly told the small creature that sat on the floor beside him. He reached down for a moment and stroked her fur, then turned back to his work.

**Date: **_10 January, 2000. _  
**Requesting agent: **_Captain Jack Harkness, Interim Director, Torchwood, Cardiff__  
_**Reason for request: ****  
**  
"What the hell do I put for that?" Jack wondered aloud. "'The Weevils and other captives are hungry,' doesn't sound official enough."

Two velvety paws landed on his thigh. He looked down at the fuzzy little face, into the lovely green eyes and said, "What?"

"Mrow."

"I can see your dish from here," he said. "You're not hungry, and I know you have fresh water." He scratched between the ears for a moment before he turned back to his work once more. "What would Alex . . ." his throat closed and he finished the sentence in his head, _have said_.

"Need to feed the pets," he muttered, writing it in on the form, deciding sarcasm could mask his cluelessness until he had a little more time to sort himself out.

Next were four columns labelled **Quantity**,** Description**,** Unit price**,and **Total price.**

"Fuck!" Jack cursed vehemently as his stomach churned again with frustration. He hated this type of work with a passion, but if he didn't do it and get it done right, he was going to have a vault full of starving aliens and other Rift victims before long. Hartman was a real stickler for paperwork, and he wouldn't put it past her to deny him the barest necessities if he didn't submit the correct forms, properly completed, the minimum number of days in advance of the required purchase. The heartless bitch wouldn't bat an eye at letting all the captives in the Cardiff vaults go hungry until he got it right.

"_Mrow_-ow-ow-ow." The head bumped his elbow and claws just barely penetrated his trousers to prickle the skin of his thigh.

"_What_ do you _want_?" he demanded almost visciously.

Unperturbed, the sleek black cat who had attached herself to him just over a week ago dropped to all fours, and walked in a circle just out of arm's reach. She paused and gave him a coquettish look over her shoulder. "Mrow?"

With an exasperated sigh, he got to his feet and said, "All right, show me."

The cat walked the three feet to the sofa and hopped up on the cushion. Wearily, Jack slumped onto the seat beside her.

"You just wanted to know you could get my undivided attention, didn't you?" he asked.

In answer the cat climbed into his lap, and headbutted his palm. He began stroking the soft fur in response to the demand.

"Now, I can't sit here long, you know," he told her as she began to purr contentedly. "There's too much to do. I can't screw this up. The stakes are too high."

Distracted by his concerns, he momentarily stopped petting her. She nipped his fingers and head butted him again. "Mrow!"

"Pushy, pushy," Jack criticized, but he began stroking the fur again. The cat fixed him with her green eyes, blinked slowly, preened royally, as it to say_ I'm entitled._

Smirking, he told her, "I think I'll name you Yvonne." He scratched between her ears and asked, "What do you think of that, Yvonne?"

The cat began to purr, and, feeling himself relax, Jack chuckled, knowing the irony of the name would escape both of them.

FIN

**Author's Note:** Yvonne the cat is mentioned briefly in the _Torchwood_ novel _Almost Perfect_ by James Goss, published by BBC Books. ISBN 978-1-846-07573-5. She disappeared shortly after Jack and Ianto brought Myfanwy into the Hub, and Jack had poor Ianto "going through the pterodactyl's stools for a month looking for evidence." If Mr. Goss is to be believed, "Yvonne is now living in a fish restaurant." :-D


End file.
